Riot Girl
by chuckinatorrr
Summary: She's got tattoos and piercings, and a habit of causing trouble anywhere she goes. Including Ouran. The Host Club can't do anything about it...can they? Rated T for heavy language. REAL CHAP. 3 POSTED
1. A hood rat needs an attitude adjustment

First story. If something's wrong/weird, please don't kill me.

Disclaimer:  
Ouran High School Host Club belongs to Bisco Hatori  
Riot Girl and its lyrics belong to Good Charlotte.

* * *

**One**

_I do not belong here._

That was Osoko Mizuki's first thought as she wandered aimlessly around the roomy interior of the Ouran Private Academy. At least, the high school part of it, anyway.

It didn't help that nine out of every ten students she passed stared at her chunky black combat boots and black-and-white-striped socks. (She was in a hurry that morning; overslept.)

Mizuki walked past a seriously stuck up auburn-haired girl, who very slightly curled her lip in disgust at Mizuki's boots. Mizuki, who was feeling rebelliously arrogant, crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out at the girl. She turned away, more disgusted. Feeling a bit better, Mizuki skipped off.

People like that girl were the main reason Mizuki didn't like Ouran. Most people were sympathetic—or at least silent—about her little shoes issue, a large handful were just stuck up and looking like they disapproved (what right did they have to approve or disapprove anything about her?). She'd already made enemies with one girl, Houshakuji Renge; and the president of the American Football club, what's-his-name Kuze (Houshakuji made some sort of dramatic public announcement about Mizuki's boots, Kuze tried insulting with her and she kicked him in the shins hard. She was pretty sure she'd seen Kuze in the nurse's office just before).

The other reason she didn't like the place was how it was so…ridiculously fancy. Mizuki understood that it was a school for rich, privileged, smart people who were just as ridiculously fancy. But pink exterior _and_ interior was just…too much. And she disagreed with the food. It was all gourmet stuff, completely the opposite of what she liked. She missed the days when she would just hop to a fast-food place with her friends, Miyako, Daisuke, Isamu, and Kazuki.

_Ah, finally, class__…3-A._

The teacher was giving a lecture. Mizuki gulped; she had to be late. She checked her watch and had to bite her tongue from cursing out loud. She should've been in class twenty minutes ago.

"Osoko-san, right?" the teacher asked.

"Say wha—? Yeah!" Mizuki replied a little too loudly. "Yeah, that's me!"

A few girls in the front whispered. A guy raised his eyebrows at her shoes. Mizuki crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out when the teacher wasn't looking. He gave her a look of disgust. She got ready to give him the finger, but the teacher was already looking up and talking.

"Well, class, this is our new student, Osoko Mizuki."

Whispers fluttered around. "Osoko? The big technology company?" "Oh my. I heard rumors she was ill-bred…" "What happened to her shoes?"

_"Nothing_ happened, they're normal shoes," Mizuki snapped before thinking.

The girl who made the remark seemed to shrink back. (Mizuki had been told by many of her friends and family members that her grey eyes became eerily icy when she was pissed.)

The teacher raised his eyebrows to his hairline at Mizuki. "Well, I'll let you off without a warning, since today is your first day…That's your seat, back there. Haninozuka! Raise your hand, please."

A small blonde boy sitting in the back raised his hand. Mizuki wondered why he was carrying a stuffed pink bunny.

_Don't make any trouble,_ her inner conscience growled at her.

She took her briefcase (which also gained looks; it was decorated with skull key chains and Sharpie marker designs) and walked over to the back. Her shoes _really were not_ helping. Every step sounded like a stomp. She sat down, trying to make as little noise as possible.

Mizuki found her seat and slumped down.

"Konnichiwa!"

She looked up. It was that puny blond kid.

"Konnichiwa," she smiled.

He grinned back, but didn't say anything else; the teacher began talking again.

Mizuki wasn't paying attention. In whatever school she was in, she _never_ paid attention. Instead, she observed her surroundings and made little mental notes.

Everyone was paying attention, as far as she could tell. Or were they just staring at the teacher and actually spacing out?

No girl had earrings. And if they did, they were dainty and elegant (Mizuki had seven silver hoops in her left ear and dangling sun-and-moon earrings on each ear). She almost envied how neat their hair looked. It was either let down nicely (unlike hers, just hanging like string and all over the place) or pulled up (nicely, of course). Whenever Mizuki pulled up her own hair, she always had to make it two spiky pigtails, sticking up, held by dozens of clips, hair bands, barrettes, and those big clips.

The teacher began writing something on the board.

Fifteen minutes passed. Mizuki had taken all the "mental notes" she had needed to know about this whack-job place.

She took out a notebook and a few multi-colored pens, pretending she was taking notes. She was actually doodling in her notebook, drawing flowery swirls, suns, moons, flowers, all sorts of random things that came to her mind.

"…now, before this lesson ends, I would like to collect your summer reports…"

Mizuki dropped her pink pen and looked up. She turned to the blonde kid. _"Report?"_

"Hm?" He looked up at her with wide brown eyes. "Yeah. Didn't you get a letter in the mail, Zuki-san?"

"Letter in the—_Zuki-san_? Aggh, I mean—"

"Osoko-san?"

"Hai, sensei?" Mizuki looked up.

"Do you have your report?" he asked. "I'm pretty sure the faculty mailed it to every student."

She stared at him, her gaping mouth resembling an "O." "M-m-mail?"

_.:: Flashback ::._

Ouran Private Academy,_ the return envelope read._

_"MOM! WHAT'S AN OURAN PRIVATE ACADEMY?"__ Mizuki hollered._

_"It's a, um, school," was her mother's reply. _

_"OH," Mizuki called back. She ripped it open, pulled out the important-looking blue paper and tossed the envelope inside the garbage can. _

_She never knew there was another paper in it, something just as important._

_.:: End Flashback ::._

"Oh, _fuck,"_ Mizuki said, yet again without thinking.

The teacher's eyebrows rose to his hairline, as did several of her classmates' eyebrows.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked with a warning tone.

"…I—u-um…e-eer," she stammered. "I'm sorry…?"

The older man glared coldly.

So therefore, Mizuki was not a happy camper. Or, rather, a happy student. Whatever.

She was already on bad terms with the teachers. There was that fiasco with the summer project (she was assigned extra homework for that, including some dumb report. She felt like stabbing that teacher with her pretty multicolored pens), 2-B's teacher caught her giving the finger to that Kuze guy, and another teacher gave her a dirty look when she saw Mizuki's boots. Mizuki, already worn out and well over pissed off, crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out. That teacher just about sent her to the principal's office.

It seemed that the rich came to school to play. After classes, everyone just wandered around, talking and going places.

So Mizuki decided she would play, too. She was rich, so why the hell not?

* * *

Terrible, wasn't it? xDD The Host Club will probably appear in the next chapter.

Hoped you liked, and reviews are appreciated.


	2. Teenagers scare the living shit outta me

Haha, second chapter. :D Thank you for all the reviews and suggestions. I will try my hardest to keep the Host Club in character, even though I will probably PHAIL. . ; xDD If I do end up phailing, break it to me gently. Unless I really deserve a flame. Which I hope I don't.

Okay, enough of my insane rants. I'm just gonna go check myself into a mental hospital now…

Okay, disclaimer:

Ouran High School Host Club © Bisco Hatori

"Teenagers" and its lyrics © My Chemical Romance

P.S. I know I spelled "fail" (phail) wrong. But that's how me and my friends spell it, so yeah…SHOVE IT UP YOUR—no, not really. x33

* * *

**Two**

_They're gonna clean up your looks _

_With all the lies in the books _

_To make a citizen out of you_

Oh, God. If there Mizuki was allowed one wish right then and there, she would've wished that it was pretty normal to dance around like a spaz. She loved this song. _Sure, Mizuki. That made you sound _absolutely_ normal._

_They say that _

_Teenagers scare the living shit outta me_

Yes, these particular teenagers scared her. (The normal will be frightened by the freaks, so—by logic—the freaks will be frightened by the normal.) (Well, now that sounded weird, didn't it?)

_So fancy…_Everything was so fancy here. She was positive each little piece of furniture in every room cost about a fortune. Not that she had a problem with that…but she _did_ have a problem with the pink interior. How long could she stay here without completely losing her mind? Not very long, considering how…_insane_ she felt.

Mizuki slowly strolled down the hallway. She realized the girls were either sweet but rather airheaded, with the occasional cool bitch. The boys were polite and maybe a little weird. But mostly weird.

There were clubs, too. The sewing club didn't interest her much (too quiet, and required too much concentration. Mizuki was a self-proclaimed idiot). The arts and crafts society was…strange. And plus, she was more of a pop artist herself. The Black Magic club was most definitely strange. Although, the cat puppet was pretty cute. And she needed quite a few voodoo dolls for…people. (_People_, let's leave it at that.)

A boy with a bowl haircut and bangs that covered his eyes waved a newspaper in her face. "This week's news!"

"Um, thanks. I think." She took the newspaper and continued on her way.

_Anniversary of the Host Club Grand Opening! Mitsuyama Engaged with Kuze!_

Ooh, Ouran's own version of _People_ magazine. What a drag. She glanced behind her, making sure bowl-cut guy wasn't look. He wasn't, and she dropped it into a nearby trashcan.

More huge windows, more pink walls, more girls decked in yellow gowns and boys in light blue monkey suits…_Not gonna wake up from this nightmare anytime soon, are you, Mizuki?_

_Uh, one problem, subconscious. _

_What? _

_I ain't dreaming._

She blinked twice dully. Okay, now she was officially insane.

_Third Music Room?_

Hell, Mizuki didn't even know there was a first or second music room. Unless they were in some other buildings in this enormous complex.

She took off her headphones and pressed her ear to the door. Nothing. It was how she expected the four libraries to be (she was dead-ass wrong).

_Well, maybe there's a place to sit._ She opened the door and…

"Welcome."

"WHOAH THAT'S MESSED UP," was the first thing she blurted out—without thinking, of course.

Mizuki had found herself gaping at some of the most _swankiest_—no, forget swanky, these guys were friggin' _pretty_—boys she had ever seen in her seventeen years on this earth.

She blinked. And blinked again. And scrambled to reopen the door.

"What's messed up?" a pair of green-eyed, light brown-haired identical twins asked.

"Nothing, nothing…oh, my head's messed up," Mizuki replied vaguely, still trying to open it. _No use now. Welcome to the hangout of a reversed harem…who's their queen?_

Oh, sure. Focus on _that._

"Oh, you mean like some kind of mental illness?" one of them asked. Before she could react he was right by her face.

An automatic reflex; Mizuki jabbed him in the forehead with two fingers. "Oww!"

"Personal space, _jackass,"_ she said, pissed.

His brother was immediately at his side. "Kaoru…are you all right?" he asked concernedly. "I know how sensitive you are…should I kiss it and make it better…?" He brought the other male—his brother, his own _brother_—closer to him, so that their noses were only an inch apart.

Mizuki had a rather unexpected reaction: absolute disgust. "That's _disgusting!_ You're gonna make out with your own friggin' _brother?_ That's just…that's just…EW. EWW. Let's leave it at that."

More stares. The twins looked a bit offended, as if their little incestuous moment was supposed to be a show especially for her.

"Well, despite your rather strange acts, you are still a customer and we still benefit," a black-haired boy with glasses said.

"Ne, ne, you found us, Zuki-chan!"

"Ack!" A familiar hyperactive blonde grabbed Mizuki by the arms and began twirling her around in glee.

"Uh, right," Mizuki said, letting go.

"Hani-sempai, do you know our new customer?" a boy with black hair and glasses asked.

"Yeah, yeah! She's in our class!" The blonde looked up at the tallest of the boys, and by so far, the quietest. "Ne, Takashi?"

"Ah," he merely replied, nodding.

"Whatever class you're in and whatever you've done doesn't matter," a violet-eyed blonde said. He stood up from the chair he was sitting in. "Welcome…" He took Mizuki's hand and, to her chagrin, kissed the back of it. "…to the Host Club."

She jerked her hand free and jabbed _him_ in the forehead. "Ahh! Okaa-san, she hurt me!"

"It's what Milord calls Kyoya," the twins informed Mizuki before she could open her mouth to make some sort of smart mouth remark.

"Ootori Kyoya!" the two grinned as they presented to her the black-haired boy.

"…Right," she replied. "Um, that's…wonderful. I gotta go now."

As politely as seemingly possible, Mizuki made a break for the door, but was stopped by the blonde. "Leaving already?" He gave her a look that was intended to be suggestive (but don't go by Mizuki, she wasn't good with reading facial expressions).

"You're our first customer! Please sit down, and we will give you a choice of designation."

"Designate…what?" she asked uncertainly, letting him lead her to a chair.

"Why," he said, shocked, "your choice of a host, of course."

"Host? Oh right, _Host_ Club," Mizuki replied. "Oh, I get it…so…wait, what?"

They probably all thought she was some sort of super-idiot now. Osoko Mizuki, heiress apparent to Osoko Industries, an absolute dumbass. Huzzah. Yay. Bring out the confetti. And booze.

"So!" Blondie looked at Mizuki from underneath his eyelashes, sort of seductively. Not that it really worked on Mizuki. "Which type do you…prefer?"

She stared blankly. "Type…?"

_Oh, jeez._ Of all the shit she'd gotten herself into, this was probably the shittiest.

* * *

YAYZ. I'm probably gonna get shot for terribly portraying the Club. xDD has no self-esteem whatsoever

Welp, hope you liked.

-Chuck

P.S. Oh yeah, maybe a few plot ideas would be nice. I never really fixated on _how_ exactly Mizuki would be introduced to the club. . '''


	3. Run from anything uncomfortable

Teehee. Not as great (well, I don't think it's as great) but whatever. I'm still in need of plotline ideas. This was just a tidbit that was already imprinted in my brain.

Thank you for submitting ideas. I really appreciate it, and I'll try to use all (or most) of them in later chapters Jeez, I had no idea anyone would like this.

Oh yeah, and it has nothing to do with what the song "Misery Business" is actually about, but I figure this situation is pretty miserable for Mizuki.

"Miracle" © Paramore

Ouran High School Host Club © Bisco Hatori

Osoko Mizuki & this story © moi, yours truly, Chuckinator

**

* * *

Three**

_We've learned to run from _

_Anything uncomfortable_

Shit. Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit. Super shit, if you will.

Running was exactly what she wanted to do, even though the particular song said something about how running from anything uncomfortable wasn't an option.

Well, maybe the protagonist of the nonexistent story the song tells should see what an amazingly screwy situation Mizuki in.

_Okay, running it is._ Mizuki whirled around and twisted the doorknob frantically. Of all the times for the friggin' doorknob to be stuck. Or maybe she was so frenetic that her fingers and hands weren't functioning correctly.

"Ne…usually girls really _want_ to see us," she heard someone say.

"I, uh…"

Mizuki cursed and cursed (inwardly) at the image of these people, their appearances corrupting her head.

Okay, she was being a little dramatic. (Or melodramatic; she didn't know the difference between the two terms.) She was horribly inadaptable to drastic changes, such as moving from a middle-class high school ruled by bitchy punks (such as her) to a fancy private "academy" with uniforms from a corny fairy tale and completely pink-shaded interior and exterior.

"Oh! I get it! Maybe you like other girls?"

That stopped her in her tracks. She whipped around. The one who spoke was the blonde, not the midget Mitsukuni from her class, but the taller one with violet eyes. She'd heard his name before, something-something-something…the 2nd year boy who was the son of the superintendent—

"I got it!" she yelled rather spontaneously. She whirled around, her long neon-green-and-pink-streaked brown hair whipping sharply.

Mizuki walked—no, something between a stomp and a stalking prowl—up to him and pointed a finger in his face. His eyes got wide in fear.

"Suoh!" she said. "That's your name! Suoh!"

Suoh Tamaki shrank under her unusual grey-eyed glare. "Y-y-yes…"

"Accuse me of being a lesbian again and I'll kick your ass before bashing your head into a brick wall," she said, jabbing her finger at his face. "I am _not_ lying, I've done it to a kid before 'cuz he—"

"Aah, Osoko Mizuki, heiress to the multinational technological company…interesting." She imagined the speaker wearing a "cool type" smile. She was right.

"And what are _you,_ my stalker?" She turned on the black-haired boy, the one with glasses. She definitely knew who he was; he'd even once set foot in her house when her family invited his for dinner. She hadn't formally met the boy (and, clearly, hadn't even bothered learning his name), but she automatically declared him and his family a group of cold bastards who believed they were in a higher, godlike status above everybody else. Dinner had been tense that night. If she remembered clearly (which she didn't, which was probably why her opinion was senselessly callous), there had been a few criticisms that didn't come from her family.

Ah. A memory jogged. His name was Ootori Kyoya.

"Osoko Mizuki," he said, reading from a file with her name on it. "The 'brash, impolite, possibly ill-bred' seventeen-year-old heiress to Osoko Industries—"

"Well, I give 'em some credit for getting the 'brash' part right."

"—expelled out of two previous boarding schools, for outbursts of violence…ah, the file even says you gave one of them a nosebleed—"

"Ahaha, a victory. Wait—a _file?!"_

"—an avid fan of independent rock bands, playing the guitar in one herself—"

"GOD! The school knows about _that_, too?! _YOU_ know about that?!"

"—she likes the unique style of her clothes, and rather dislikes schools such as this one." He closed the folder. "Well, I suppose the school _does_ know, considering it's noted in the files." He smiled pleasantly.

Mizuki narrowed her eyes and let out an animalistic growl, something the Host Club did not expect.

She grabbed the folder from Ootori Kyoya's hands and smacked him across the face with it.

Now, that left the rest of the Host Club absolutely stunned. The brown-haired (well, the brown was almost invisible with all the bright neon streaks), abstractly-dressed (her awful butter-colored dress was accented with clashing punk accessories); unusually brash new girl had fearlessly smacked the Shadow King.

Well, for Mizuki herself, it was no different from the large number of bitches and bastards she'd mercilessly beaten in her last school. (For the record, the threat she gave Tamaki was a truth.)

"Stalker!" she said, pointing at Kyoya. "I'm amazed you do _well_ with girls. Unless the girls at this joint are too stupid to realize that a guy who knows everything about them—without actually having to _talk_ to them—is creepy!" (No, that sentence did not make any sense. At all. But if you inform Mizuki of that, she'll…well; I'm not going to stress the gory details.)

Without bothering to listen to the protests and things from the rest of the Host Club, she smashed the file into a nearby vase, crushing a few flowers as well. A strange reflex caused her to pick up the vase and spit in it.

"Lessee if they still want me 'choosing a type' or whatever," she said jubilantly.

With her vibrantly multicolored hair whipping behind her, Mizuki stomped out, her mood in a funny, unbalanced state of cantankerousness and triumph.

But mostly triumph.

"Um…Osoko-san…?"

It was of the most timid girl in her class, Ichiraku forgot-her-first-name. She was a pretty petite thing, with short, flaming red hair and emerald eyes. Maybe she was growing narcissistic, but Mizuki had this feeling the redhead idolized her somehow.

"Ootori-kun wanted me to deliver this to you, since he heard our dorms were next door to each other…" She handed Mizuki a small piece of fancy poster board-like paper.

_"Ootori-kun." Maybe she's a faithful customer of the Club,_ Mizuki thought vaguely.

"Thanks, Ichiraku-san," Mizuki smiled. "G'night, see ya tomorrow."

And much to her chagrin, this was what the note read:

_You managed to leave something very valuable behind during your quite strange visit today. Come by tomorrow to pick it up._

_-the Host Club_

"Eh…weird," she comment. She tossed the note onto her nightstand and searched for her headphones—

"Shit," she said simply. "My iPod."

Entered here would be a long string of colorfully composed curses that was cut out, because it would surely make this story's rating skyrocket.

* * *

Oh my God. This sucked. Lol, I'm sorry. xD

Review. Or I will die. (Or the story will die, from lack of motivation. And I think that would kill or at least somehow depress whatever readers I have…lol.)

Oh. And if you have any ideas, please say so. But I already have a lot (THANK YOU ALL WHO SUGGESTED THINGS, YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE), so if you have a good idea, I guess I'll just make this story very randomly long.


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